


A Sigh is Just a Sigh

by orphan_account



Category: EastEnders
Genre: Chryed, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kiss is just a kiss.  Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sigh is Just a Sigh

… A sigh is just a sigh...

 

 

 

 

He thought about not being there when he got home, but what was the point? They had to sort it and it might as well be sooner than later.

It didn't help that he couldn't decide how he felt. On one hand he thought Syed was being a bit of an arsehole, bringing up _that_ , making it so big and important when it wasn't, wasn't at all. On the other he hated seeing that look on his face, that knifed-in-the-gut-by-the-man-I-love expression in his eyes.

Had he been right to tell him or had it just been him being damn bloody selfish again? Roxy had said 'no, don't tell him', had even given him an out – the way mates did, covering your back when you need them to – but no, he'd seen it as a 'sign' a sign that he was _meant_ to know. What a joke. What had he expected Syed to do – kiss him and say it was alright, alright that he'd not just come on to another man, but had taken it to the next level too, not giving a damn about his partner sat at home waiting for him?

And no, it hadn't 'just happened' – he'd been bloody angry with Syed, angry with him for not wanting to party. He was a Muslim, for fuck's sake! He didn't drink, didn't celebrate Christmas, didn't see New Year’s Eve in the same way he did. And obviously that particular anniversary brought back memories for him – Christian should have been there _for_ him, _with_ him, bloody made an _effort_ to understand.

He loved Syed, loved him to bits, but that wasn't enough to reconcile what might, in the end, prove to be irreconcilable differences. And Syed, Syed seemed to want to _keep_ those differences, not even really wanting to share his religion with him, happy enough to keep that part of himself locked away, still trying, as far as Christian could tell, to place a fence around Syed Masood, the Muslim, keep him unsullied, untouched by everything Christian was.

He _knew_ that Syed loved him, but knew too that loving him didn't mean, as far as Syed was concerned, changing who he was for his sake.

And of course he'd say that he didn't want him to, but was that really true? Wouldn’t he have been happier had Syed not had those moral values, took life a lot less seriously, _stopped_ being Syed in other words? He knew that another man would have understood how he'd got himself into that pickle, would have actually _believed_ him when he said it meant nothing – that even sleeping with the pick up would have meant nothing. But that _wasn't_ how it was for Syed. Sex meant everything, in a way it just never could for Christian. Being with Syed, making love to him meant everything to him, but he was quite able to separate that from sex itself, sex with a meaningless stranger.

How could he not have known that Syed could never, ever see it that way?

He'd broken them, he knew that, and it had never been as important as it now was for him to show determination, to take responsibility as Syed had urged, and bloody fix it, mend what he'd so carelessly damaged.

 

**

Syed came in, took his jacket off, put his keys on the table, went to the kitchen, made himself a drink – which he brought with him to the bedroom.

Not once did he even glance in Christian's direction.

The bedroom door closed quietly and after a moment he heard the sound of music – the music Syed listened to when he was by himself, when he was feeling low and missing his family.

Christian grabbed a cushion and pulled it in to his chest, resting his chin on its scratchy surface. He had no idea - none – how to fix this.

 

**

“Syed, I need to come in. Can I?”

He didn't answer but the music stopped abruptly so Christian took that as permission. He'd expected him to be lying on their bed, but he wasn't, he was leaning against the wall by the window, arms folded, staring morosely into the street.

He walked over to the wardrobe, opened it, rifled through the contents, struggling to find the right words.

“What was he like?”

Christian swallowed hard, knowing that he was on the knife-edge: say the wrong thing or even _not_ say the _right_ thing and it could all come crashing down around them. “Tall, Red-haired – Scottish. He had a beard.”

Syed made a low, exasperated sound. “That wasn't what I meant.”

“I didn't even really kiss him and no, I know that isn't the point. Sy,” He turned to him, but knew better than to make any forward movement. “I was stupid, really stupid. The moment he touched me I knew it was wrong. Since you, since I fell in love with you I haven't _wanted_ anyone else. I can't ever _imagine_ wanting anyone else.” He closed his eyes, shook his head. How had he allowed himself to get them here? “Habit, that's all it was. I'm so used to seeking comfort that way when I'm angry, when I'm feeling sorry for myself. I'm just not used to having someone actually fucking care about me, Syed, having someone actually think I'm worth loving, _worth_ being faithful for. And I guess I'm not used to loving someone so much that being unfaithful actually hurts. It's always been about me, Sy. It knocked me on my arse to realise that it wasn’t anymore, that now it's all about _you_. When he touched me it was like someone had smacked me in the mouth. And yes it meant nothing – wasn't even a proper kiss – I didn't let it be - but it _hurt_ me, Syed, hurt so damn much. I felt that I'd betrayed you even though it was _nothing_ – physically it was nothing and obviously there were no _feelings_ involved. I didn’t fancy him even a little bit.”

“Not your type?”

Ordinarily he would have quipped that _every_ man was his type, but there was something important he'd realised, something he really needed to say to him. “I have never been in love like this before. I have never been the faithful type, Syed, never thought it was important, but the way you make me feel... Syed, I don't think you have any idea and I guess I didn't really get it _myself_ until the other day. I was mad at you and I was stupid drunk and _before_ you that would have meant only one thing.” Syed was still not looking at him, head and eyes lowered as he listened. “I know you believe me, because I know you know I love you – is there any way to even hide that? But that's not enough is it?”

Syed was still for a long time, then Christian, seeing, at last, the slow movement of his head from side to side, closed his eyes.

He'd known it, but he'd been hoping against hope.

“I'll sleep on the couch tonight.”

Syed neither spoke nor gave any non-verbal response to this, so Christian fetched his pillows, found a spare sheet and duvet and quietly left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

 

**

Syed did leave the bedroom that evening: he went to the bathroom, he came into the kitchen several times, making himself beverages – both hot and cold – never food.

He acted like he was alone, never once looking at him, standing (at one point) beside Christian as he sipped his coffee and looked at the t.v screen.

Once the news ended he went back to his room.

Christian wanted to feel sorry for himself, even wanted to feel resentment and anger, but all he felt was empty, the hollow ache of impotence.

He'd had it all and he'd thrown it away.

The question now was just how badly it was going to hurt.

 

**

He heard the door open, saw the light from the bedroom under the door, and as he saw the door handle turn, closed his eyes, not wanting Syed to see his eyes, not wanting to see Syed ignore him.

He sensed him standing at the door, assumed he was being examined, knew that Syed couldn't possibly believe he was sleeping.

He didn't open his eyes, but knew that his breathing had quickened against his will, that his heart was racing, his limbs shaking.

He felt the warmth of him as he approached, the scent of him as he hunched down.

He opened his eyes.

Syed didn't look any different than he always did; his eyes were tender as they always were when he looked at Christian, his mouth solemn, but not hard. His hand was very warm. “I love you.” His kiss was feather-light, starting at Christian's mouth, moving to his cheeks, his chin, his eyelids.

The hand held out to him was not demanding, just sure and confident. “Come on.”

The air was cold: Christian shivered as he followed him to their bedroom. The bed was warm though, even his side, and he knew then that that was where Syed had been lying – on his side of the bed.

They lay together and Syed kissed him again, kissed him all over until he began to sob.

Syed didn't shush him, didn't offer him any comfort, simply said: “I love you.” Christian waited for the 'but' then realised that there were no 'buts', that Syed wanted him to see that, to _know_ that.

He wanted to say 'Sorry', to explain again how big a mistake he'd made, how he _knew_ he'd erred, but Syed didn’t need that. He didn't.

“You're my world.” He'd never thought he could sound so broken, feel so _humbled_ by a simple emotion...

Syed was crying. He reached gentle fingers to Christian's face. “You're mine.”

And Christian knew that he'd been forgiven. Syed had just offered him what no-one ever had – _acceptance_. It wasn't perfect – _they_ weren't – and that was the point; it didn't matter; they loved each other, imperfections and all, and it had taken this incident to make both of them truly see that.

 _Who_ they were didn't really matter – it was what they felt about each other that mattered.

He knew they wouldn’t make love that night; being together, lying in each other’s arms, falling asleep together was all the love they needed.


End file.
